Katana to Yume
by Cat Avatar for the DCG
Summary: A TimelineWhatTimeline piece TashigiZoro fluff with lime flavoring left over from it being a lemon. Because I really like Tashigi and Zoro as a couple, and I'd like to see more of them.
1. Day

Katana to Yume 

Basis – One Piece

Rating – Mature for light violence, language, and non-explicit consentual heterosexual intercourse. WAFF warning.

Pairing – Zoro & Tashigi

Inspiration – Seeming lack of any Zor/Tag lemons on the web. Sideways reference to Hana to Yume as warning for romance.

Author – Cat, Avatar for the DCG. Questions, comments, complaints, bitches, gripes and moans to me, here.

Why – Well, I wanted to read some nice smut about Zoro and Tashigi. So I hit up all the usual suspects. No dice – or lemons! So I spent a couple of hours hitting every site Google turned up for a 'One Piece fanfiction' search. Still no luck. So I tried Metacrawler. Zilch. I checked fanlistings. Nyet. I tore at my hair and banged my head into the wall. While the pain distracted me for a while, when it went away there was still no lemony goodness on my screen. My ever faithful priest (and beta-reader) APCCP Mattemo pointed out that if the situation annoyed me that much, I should remedy it. And here I am. I soon figured out one of the reasons, sexual or sword or legal tensions aside, no-one had written about Zoro and Tashigi before. News Flash – they aren't on the same ship! And if Smoker's ship catches the Going Merry again… Well, lets say I doubt Tashigi and Zoro are going to have the time for a short romance followed by lengthy sex. sigh But I refused to let this defeat me, and instead, when faced with adversity, fell back on the second cheapest trick in the book, TWT! (The first being, of course, AU.) I then decided to try 'cleaning up my act' as it were, and posting it here on as an exercise in 'acceptable' writing, if nothing else.

Oh wait- almost forgot-

Disclaimer – One Piece does not belong to me. The intellectual property rights for hokey romance and hot sex don't belong to me either, more is the pity. However, if One Piece, in some way, belongs to you, and you object in whole or in part to this fic; well, it will be removed at your first request! You're gonna have to prove it to me if you say you copyrighted romance and sex, though.

* * *

It had all started fairly innocently. Well, not really. It had started, accidentally, say. The island seemed blissfully boring, much as Little Garden had. Although, with that as an example, and minding their luck, they had been cautious, at first. **That** had lasted for all of about five minutes. 

Sometimes, Zoro swore, if he had to see any of his mates for even a second more, he would just go crazy; and not stop fighting until they were all dead, or he was. Either that, or jump overboard and swim for sanity. These islands of the Grand Line, each with their own little adventures and dangers, had to be the only thing that kept them all relatively whole.

"Only united against the world, or somethin'."

"You say something, Zoro?" Usopp seemed only mildly curious.

"No." Then, after a pause. "I'm going for a walk."

No reply, no overly dramatic hysterics at being left alone. (Luffy was, of course, long gone, Nico Robin with him; and the damned cook had left soon after, purportedly for food, though Zoro had his doubts.) Zoro glanced up to the top of the pilot house, where Usopp appeared not to have heard him, so wrapped up in measuring and pouring was he.

Chopper, who was hovering at Usopp's shoulder, met his eye nervously. "How long, ah, I mean… When will you, ah, be back?"

Zoro glanced into the late afternoon sky. "By dinner, maybe. Breakfast if not. Or lunch"

Usopp half turned, his attention split between the glass flask in his hands and the swordsman. "Sanji won't save anything for you from Luffy if you're late, y'know."

"Like I care." Zoro shrugged. "I'll eat something out there."

At this, Usopp turned all the way around, his eyes comically large. As if it had waited until his attention was turned, the liquid in his hand began to slowly bubble. "You can cook, Zoro? You lie!"

"Any idiot can put meat over a fire."

Nami, listening from her lounge chair on the fo'c'sle, felt the need to rise to this. "Does this mean you admit to being an idiot?"

Usopp chortled, then yelped as the concoction he had ignored began to boil and spit in earnest.

Unable to come up with a witty retort, and suddenly unwilling to spend even another moment on the ship to think of one, Zoro stalked to the side and jumped gracefully down. His dramatic exit was only spoiled by the fact that no one was paying him the slightest attention.

* * *

Tashigi was glad of her shore leave. Not that they were in much of a port, but that made it all the better. With only a village to stake out, she had been allowed time to leave the ship and to do some much needed training. She'd decided that what she really needed was to toughen up. Her technique was good, and in fact she had probably been over-analyzing it, since there — Alabasta. So it had to be in those areas where she was held back by nature that she was deficient. Weight training on the ship was fine, but for stamina work she really needed more room. Thus, the request for shore leave. She had a week, which was enough time to make a good start, find her current limits. She took only a tarp for the rain, some blankets, an aid-kit, a jug of the local moonshine (for sterilization purposes, and if necessary, pain relief), and a small sack of grains and dehydrated vegetables. In a way, it gave her flashbacks to training, back when she had first joined the marines. But she wasn't as excited about it now as she had been then. Really. 

She had hiked up into the high hills on the first day, out on to the far side of the small range, where there were no signs of humanity. She set up camp next to an icy cold stream, where a miniature waterfall made a small pool. Perfect for cold endurance training, breathing practice, and bathing. And fish. Maybe. She'd never been much good at fish.

The next day had set a pattern she had followed since. Get up in the pre-dawn for a nice warming jog and a wake-up dip in the pool. Boil up some tasteless mush to eat with whatever she had hunted down the day before. Practice strokes with a weighted sword for a while. Go for an extra-long run up the side of the range, then back down. Eat leftovers for lunch and find something to kill for dinner. Practice forms for a few hours. Do some meditation and endurance under the frigid waterfall. Weight training and another short cool down run. Eat dinner. Free practice on whatever she felt lacking on, until it was too dark. Have another short dip to wash off. Go to bed.

Simple, but she could feel the ache in her muscles every day when she awoke. She wasn't sure how she was going to keep up the regimen when she returned to her duties on the ship, but… At least, for these next two days, she could continue to relax and enjoy herself.

* * *

The island seemed pleasant enough. It seemed to be some sort of 'spring' island — nice and crisp, ranging to actually chilly in the shade. The dense woods were broken with green flowery meadows and meandering streams. He'd been wandering for about two hours without seeing signs of human habitation, and had yet to be assaulted by any animals. All in all, nearly idyllic. Zoro was officially bored. 

He hiked farther into the hills, hoping for a nice impassible cliff to climb, some sort of monster to attack him... Something to break the tedium. It was about when he was going to turn back, disappointed, that he smelled the food. Pulling his way into a nearby tree, he could see a thin, nearly invisible strand of smoke, as from a safely smoldering camp-fire, off to his right a bit. Probably not one of his mates, he figured. If they made a fire, it wouldn't be banked.

He jumped out of the tree and cautiously approached where he thought the fire should be. He only had to climb into the trees once more to orient himself, proving that the camp was close indeed. Mostly, he followed his nose. His caution was not due to any fear of the fire's maker, but to the thought that, if the camp was unpleasantly inhabited, he would not be surprised. In general, it never hurt to be careful. As he approached, he saw that the woods had been cleared somewhat in a semi-circle around a brook with a six-foot waterfall. A lean-to of waxed canvas sheltered a cozy looking nest of blankets, and the banked fire had a haunch of some sort of meat skewered over it. There appeared to be no one around. He was about to _'Hello'_ the area when a sneeze drew his attention back to the waterfall. And there it stayed.

There was a person — no, definitely a woman — underneath the near freezing spray, arms outstretched to her sides, parallel to the ground. That wasn't what caught his attention though. No, what had stayed his gaze was her state of dress, or rather, undress. Not that she was naked. No, Zoro could well testify that she seemed to be wearing pants under the waist high water. And, if his attention didn't wonder any further upward than her very naked chest, well it was scarcely his fault.

He probably stood there, staring, for at least five minutes, before his higher brain functions kicked back in. _"I'd probably better get out of here. This doesn't look like the best time to ask her to share her dinner. She looks kinda involved."_ He didn't move from the spot, though. _"But, y'know, she looks pretty fuckin' distracted. Maybe I should stay and make sure nothin' sneaks up on her. Ah dammit! Now I sound like the shitty love-cook. I'm leaving."_ Moving seemed harder than recriminations though, for his legs refused to turn and walk him away.

His internal argument was interrupted by the snap of a twig. He froze guilty, not even breathing, before realizing that the sound had come from the other side of the pool. The woman in the water had not waited, though, and jumped smoothly from the water to pick up her weapon, (which Zoro had not noticed, embarrassingly enough), from the bank. Her back to him, she also scooped up some small object — glasses — and set them on her face.

Zoro stopped breathing again, for an entirely different reason. He **knew** that profile. He knew who that woman was. And she couldn't be here! It was idiocy! He could not have been ogling -- that is -- looking at, the copy-cat marine! There was no way!

A small animal — some sort of wild dog — broke cover from the bushes from whence the noise had come, probably attracted by the smell of food. The marine tensed, then laughed, sounding… fairly pleasant, actually. Then she drew her sword, tossing the scabbard while she stamped her foot and yelled at the already spooked animal. It fled. Zoro considered doing the same, quickly.

The sergeant-major drew smoothly up to her full height, dripping wet. Then, stepping forward to pick up her scabbard, she tripped over something that had to be largely imaginary. Her face-plant into the sod, narrowly missing her own flailing sword as she fell, was the last straw. Zoro burst into slightly hysterical laughter.

* * *

The laughter startled her — there should have been no one around. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, too. She rolled over on her back and pushed up on her elbows, squinting in the direction of the laughter. It stopped, abruptly, as she fumbled for the glasses that had dropped off her face. She pushed them on, looking at… 

It wasn't possible. She blinked hard, keeping her eyes closed for a couple of seconds. When she opened them, Roronoa Zoro was still standing on the edge of her little camp, staring at her, his face an odd pink color that clashed badly with his hair. She scrambled to her feet, trying not to blink again, lest he disappear. In the act reaching for her _Shigure_, she realized that the sword was still in her right hand. She backed up a step, then turned, grabbing her scabbard to sheath her blade. When she turned back, he was still there, staring at her.

"You're really here, aren't you?"

He started at the question, flushing darker, his gaze abruptly on her face. It was about then she realized he hadn't been looking at her face — and why he was blushing. She wasn't wearing a shirt. She wasn't wearing a damned thing on top! She yelped, turning beet red, and leapt for her jacket, shrugging into it as fast as she could.

It wasn't as though she was self-conscious about her body. No, recruit camp had removed any problems she had with modesty — they had all, the men and the few women, slept, ate and sweated their asses off together. She lived, most recently, on a galleon with better than one hundred-fifty men, and no other women. It wasn't like it was even her first time, having a guy looking at her, specifically. After all, there had been that short, pathetically doomed... thing... when she was a corporal. But somehow, the fact that Roronoa had seen her half-clothed was a little odd. Uncomfortable, like it seemed to make him.

She stopped fumbling for her buttons, angry at her own thoughts. What was she, some feeble excuse for a girl who had never held a sword? He probably went without his shirt all the time. If her bare chest made him uncomfortable in his little sexist world, too bad. Thus worked up, she left her jacket defiantly open as she turned back to face him. If Captain Smoker could pull it off without a turning cherry-red, so could she. Probably.

He was still there — not blushing quite as hard as he had been, his eyes locked to hers. She raised her sheathed sword at him in challenge, then pivoted, setting her right side facing him in a wide stance. She resettled he glasses more securely on her nose and spoke civilly. One should always remember to be civil, even with criminals.

"So, I guess you are ready for that re-match." She crouched a little with her words, a good ready position, and prepared for attack from any direction.

* * *

Zoro wandered forward a few steps, keeping his eyes firmly on the marine's face, though it made him uncomfortable to stare at her too-familiar features like that. But under no circumstances was he going to let his gaze drop below her collar again. That jacket was **not** fastened, and her turning sideways to him had not obscured… the issues. 

"Where are all your goons?" He asked, attempting to distract himself with vague curiosity. He didn't look around, though.

"Other side of the range, in the village. Where are yours?"

He grinned at the description. "They aren't mine, they're Luffy's. And they're back there, somewhere." He waved idly behind him, drifting forward another step. She shifted her weight minutely, her sheathed sword by her left leg.

He stopped, studying her position. "_Iajutsu_, huh? Try not to embarrass yourself."

She didn't rise to his teasing. "Try me. Or are you afraid of a challenge, Roronoa Zoro?"

He bristled somewhat, at that. "Not from you, I'm not. Or have you miraculously improved, since Alabasta? I heard how you fared against Crocodile."

She growled, then, her composure seemingly forgotten, and gave vent to a banshee-like wail that would have deafened him, had he not been expecting it. (Nami was known to make the **very same** sound, occasionally, when driven to the very edges of her admittedly short patience, usually by their erstwhile captain. It might well be some sort of obscure female attack. Nico Robin had never done it in his hearing, but he had not particularly hung around her if he could help it, either.)

Her charge was surprisingly speedy. Obviously she had, indeed, improved. She came in fast and low, from his right, where, had he all of his swords out, he might still be only able cover with one. She had also, obviously, been studying his style. This pleased him inordinately, the thought that his reputation and style had spread far enough, on the Grand Line, that people would analyze it, and try to develop weaknesses.

He drew — the _Wadou Ichimonji_, of course — as she moved forward, and her own very fine _katana_ flashed out at the last second — a exemplary fast draw from someone who he'd not seen use the technique before. Or rather, he though — as he blocked, low and fast across his body, putting some strength in it to sweep her thrust far out of line — he had seen her use it before, once, when he first met her. On those thugs, right before she had fallen down.

His sweep, meanwhile, had neither disarmed nor unbalanced the marine. He was faintly impressed, as that was all it had taken last time. Instead, she used the momentum to throw her body into a spin — crouching in the meantime to minimize the target her back presented as it flashed past — and swept in low again, this time at his left leg.

Ignoring the shameful back-attack opportunity, he drew the _Yubashiri_ with his right hand (no need to tempt fate with the bloodthirsty _Kitetsu_), blocking across his body again, with even more strength. She seemed to have anticipated the counter, though, and was already leaping away. A clever feint to allow her time to recover, obviously. He grinned, finding himself actually amused. As long as he kept his eyes on her blade and her feet, then perhaps he had found a bit of the excitement he'd been looking for.

She stood, braced for a few moments, seemingly waiting for him to attack. When he did not, she re-sheathed her sword in the scabbard she still carried in her left hand and charged in again.

* * *

It was infuriating. She attacked again and again, from all angles and directions. She was pushing herself to her limits, using all of her speed and strength and guile. She had not stumbled or misstepped for the entire time, not allowing that luxury to herself, forcing her clumsy body to perform as it had not in... years, at least. Perhaps ever. And yet she had not even scratched the man before her. That damned, thrice-damned **pirate**! He just **stood** there, not attacking, blocking in the most complicated manner possible, like some flashy instructor. He had not donned his dark bandanna, drawn his third sword, used his _santoryuu_. He had not even moved from the spot on the ground he had taken up, to her judgment. Again, he would not even deign to treat her as a fellow swordsman, the sexist bastard. And grinning — smirking — the entire time. But... 

She had noticed that he was not as responsive to thrusts as to slashes. Perhaps a mere fraction of a second, but he was definitely slower. She knew why, of course. It was obvious, the way he flushed ever so slightly as the tip of her sword changed leads across her chest. But it was an opportunity, if a small, chancy, and even perhaps... cruel one. And she had an attack that, perhaps, could exploit it.

Surprisingly enough, Captain Smoker had the very same hesitation, in sparring. Not for the same reason, of course. No, just that his oversize _jitte_ was best used as a sword-breaker — on slashes and chops. In battle, **real** battle, he usually used his Devil Fruit powers to react to thrusts, rendering them utterly ineffectual. But in sparing, he did not, and there was always the slightest hesitation there, as he decided how best to handle them without, well, smoking, as it were. And not two weeks ago, she had successfully utilized a thrust fast enough — and crafty enough — to get a hit on him. On Captain Smoker. Granted, it utilized some base assumptions, of... well... anyhow. It had worked, and Captain Smoker said that was all that counted. There was no fair or cruel in battle.

Swallowing her pride, she prepared for the attack. Backing a few steps, then, when he didn't move, a few steps more, she once more sheathed her precious _Shigure_ and took a few breaths deeply, through her nose — as much to center herself as to catch her breath.

"Done already?" The pirate's horrid smirk widened until it was practically a leer, it seemed. It was perfect, just the opening she needed. In fact, it was nearly the same words Captain Smoker had used. Shaking off the feeling of _deja-vu_, she glared as if the comment had shaken her and charged in again. Meters still away, she jumped into the air, using the extra momentum and weight to swing a hard blow at his head. He blocked, as she knew he would, with such an obvious attack, although it warmed her that it took two swords. Or rather, the second sword was to throw her off, it seemed. She absorbed the momentum with a twist, coming down at his back even as he turned, swords at the ready. Crouched in landing she prepared the feint, all or nothing.

"Scum!" she screamed, launching herself upwards, her katana moving swiftly toward his right side. As he moved to block, she knew it was time. Her right ankle seemed to twist beneath her, turning her lunge into a lurch. She allowed a panicked look to cross her face as she pulled her arms in — to catch her balance, seemingly. Then, as the tip of her blade re-centered on her body, she struck. The thrust utilized her whole body from a standing position, a collection of all of her resources with her left palm against the hilt, pushing the thrust even faster. He moved to block, but the hesitation — compounded by the perceived stumble — was there! And he was slow, too slow! Even as he blocked, the tip of her blade stabbed into the outside of his left arm, ripping through muscle and skin and cutting through the knot on the thrice-damned bandanna.

In her triumph, she let down her guard, and her body — her own **clumsy** body — betrayed her. As she brought her right leg forward to stabilize herself against his block, her foot caught on the back of her left knee, buckling her supporting leg. With the steady strength of Roronoa's blade pushing against hers, instead of falling to her knees she was thrown into a spin. Her glasses were slung from her face one direction, Shigure wrenched from her hand in another. In the strangely stretched moment she saw the pirate's katana finally come into attack position on either side of his still shocked face. _"Too late",_ she thought resignedly. Then her head struck the ground and she knew no more.

* * *

Zoro continued the motion as smoothly as he had started it. His left boot came down on the blade near her outstretched hand, his own swords sinking smoothly into the stony ground on either side of the marines head. Futile, as he had thought — she was out cold, a small trickle of blood on the stone her head had struck. 

He wavered for a few moments between humor and anger before deciding that it was actually hilarious. After all, she had carried out an intelligent and well planned attack, had drawn blood on him. Had caused him to counter-attack despite his intentions! And then had tripped over her own feet to knock herself out on a rock. It would almost be worthy of Luffy, except that his captain, however inattentive, was never clumsy in battle. Nor, really, anywhere else, but it had the same flavor of the ridiculous.

He got control of his laughter and sheathed his swords. He turned to walk away, then paused against his will.

"Walk away, dammit!"

But his feet, once again, did not obey him. Just because he had not seen any dangerous animals, or people, did not mean there weren't any. He was not, he found, so hardened as to walk away from a woman bleeding and half dressed on the ground — even one who had attacked him. Sighing, he turned back toward the marine. Then looked away, blushing.

"Why couldn't you've fallen onto your, er, front?" He looked away into the surrounding wood and nudged her with the toe of one boot. "Oi. Wake up."

Nothing. If it had been one of his mates he would have kicked her. Well, maybe not, but still. The marine was silent at his feet, looking as helpless as a child. She seemed smaller without her sword in her hands. Probably felt smaller too — Zoro always did. Still she did not move as he waited, her shallow breathing the only indication that she lived.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath.

He turned to the nest of blankets and extracted one at random. Wrapping it around the unconscious woman, he lifted her easily, but with a twinge in his left arm. Looking, he realized that the katana had struck more deeply than he had realized. Shrugging, he deposited her under the tarp, then turned to the brook to wash out the cut.

The wound had gone with the grain of the muscle, about an inch deep near his elbow, then steadily shallower along his biceps until it ended at the base of his deltoid. Not debilitating, but annoying none the less. He debated with himself shortly, then ripped one of the blankets into bandages. He figured that was the least she could offer, being her fault and all.

"Even if she isn't conscious to volunteer them." He smiled humorlessly.

"Speaking of..." He wet down a few of the strips and made his way to the fireside, crouching on his haunches. She was still breathing, but had yet to regain consciousness. He hoped she hadn't rattled anything in her skull. Even Chopper said that head injuries were pretty touch and go — they either recovered, or they didn't.

He rolled her onto her side, then cleaned the blood mat out of her hair as best he could. Or, rather, as best he could do anything at the extreme length of his reach. He just didn't feel comfortable getting any closer to her when there weren't any swords between them. Knotting a bandage around her head inexpertly, he backed off — looking for any signs of return to consciousness. She didn't seem like she was going to pop up any time soon, disappointingly enough.

He retrieved his bandanna, her katana, and, after a moment, her glasses. Returning to the fire, he decided a cut or three from the roast would only be just repayment for the guard duty he was pulling. At the going rates for a top notch swordsman, she was getting off cheap. He leaned back against the log set by the fire, preparing for a light nap, confident he would wake at the slightest sign of danger.

* * *

Easy one- just had to lop a chapter sized peice off the front. I can't seem to write 'romance' or even smut without a few thousand words of exposition in the front. 


	2. Rain

**Katana to Yume**

**Disclaimer** – I've thought about it... And One Piece still doesn't belong to me. This interpretation is purely the ravings of a sick, sick mind. Who wants to see relationships in everything, even action-shonen. /laugh

_**As always- all kudos to my beta, APCCP Mattemo.**_

* * *

Tashigi cracked her eyes open, then groaned as a familiar feeling seemed to pour in with the flickering light. Her body felt as though it had been run through a laundry wringer and someone was pounding on her head like a signal drum. She was also half-naked, rolled in blankets, and sleeping on the ground. Right off hand, she also couldn't remember where she was. Oh yes — she knew this feeling.

"Damn it all to hell, anyhow. Why is it I never learn my lesson?" She asked herself rhetorically.

"What lesson?"

That definitely wasn't herself answering. She rolled into a sitting position, painfully, clutched the blankets to her naked chest and squinted into the dark, across a flaring fire. She knew the voice, but she couldn't place it, right at the moment. "The lesson to stop drinking the cheap grog before I pass out. And how not to get hangovers — I really need to work on that one."

She felt the sod around herself, then squinted at the darkened ground. "Where are we, anyway? And where are my glasses? I didn't break them again, did I?" Her voice was traversing octaves, increasingly panicked. "And where's _Shigure_?"

The man — her shore-leave partner(?) — stood up and skirted the fire to where she sat. She had a feeling she was forgetting something important, but she attempted to play it off, casually. _'Act like you remember his name, idiot.'_ She started mentally tallying the other NCOs on the ship, trying to remember who she'd been assigned with this time — and why they'd been drinking so much.

He moved in front of her, silhouetted against the fire, and pressed her _katana_ into her outstretched hand — he was obviously familiar with her priorities — then her glasses.

"I don't think it's drinking you, ah, need to blame..." He trailed off as she fumbled her glasses on, wincing with the movement.

She gasped as she looked at him, recollection flooding in on her. _'That was_ — "Roranoa Zoro!"

She skittered backwards desperately, putting some space between them, and leapt into stance, drawing _Shigure_ from its scabbard smoothly.

Or, at least, that's what she meant to do. Instead she got tangled in the enveloping blankets and slammed her head backwards into the tree she'd tied the lean-to off on, in what she would swear was the exact same spot she'd hit earlier.

"Fuck!" She moaned, dropping her _katana_ to clutch at her poor beleaguered head.

The pirate stepped forward, a hand outstretched. "Oi, are you OK?" He actually sounded concerned. She almost hated him, in that instant, for being that human.

"No I'm not **OK**, asshole!" The hand fell, and he backed a step, seemingly considering her.

Tashigi took a few deep breaths, calming and centering herself, and let go of the pointless anger. She'd defeated herself, after all, it was no fault of his. Should she hold it against him that he had been the catalyst? Or that he was a decent enough person to stay and help an injured enemy in the midst of the wilderness? She dropped her hands — from a bandage he must have applied for her — and ventured an apologetic half-smile. Basic courtesy was the least she could do. And she would do it too, damn it, even if it killed her.

"Sorry." As his tense expression faded, she felt the bump cautiously and ventured a prognosis from long experience. "It's just a headache. I'll be fine in a few hours. Like I said, it's really no worse than a hangover."

He settled back onto the log-seat that she'd dragged to the fire, seemingly accepting her explanation — her apology. Which was good, because it was the only one he was going to get.

She attempted to settle back more comfortably against the trunk, pulling her knees to her chest to disguise her hands as she buttoned her jacket. It was all well and good to go bare chested in a battle, maybe, but during civilized conversation it was another thing altogether. If sitting at a fire across from a pirate was civilized. Regardless, she wasn't going to sit her with her chest open to the air. It was getting cold, and the air smelt of rain.

Obviously his eyesight was well up to piercing the cloudy night to see her actions, for he shifted his gaze to the surrounding darkness, allowing her a modicum of dignity by pretending not to notice. It was more polite than she would have believed him. Although he'd been nice enough when they first met, she guessed. Right up until he started being a sexist-pirate-bastard, that is. She squashed the now standard stab of jealous anger at the thought of his skills.

Tashigi jumped a little when he cleared his throat, then, directed to the woods he was staring at, it seemed — "I, ah, didn't think you cussed."

She finished the buttoning and looked over at him, now curious. "I'm a marine." Then, at his shrug, "But no, I try not to. It's unbecoming. Courtesy costs nothing and is priceless, my mother always said." Reminded, (reprimanded?) by the memory, she used the tree to climb to her feet, then bowed low to his stunned stare. "Thank you for your care."

He looked back into the darkness, blushing again. She got the feeling he wasn't used to apologies, or thanks. "Wasn't a problem," he muttered, shrugging. Then, "I had to cut up one of your blankets for bandages, though. And I, um, ate some of your dinner." He faced her again, seemingly daring her to criticize.

"A more than fair price." There were plenty of the blankets anyway. She hesitated, then decided that she was in no condition to fight him anyway. And he'd helped her when he hadn't to do anything but leave her to die — it would not have even been his fault.

"I have some alcohol, though it's fairly cheap stuff, mostly for sanitation. And an aid-kit with some anti-septic powder. I could... I mean, I'll bind your wound if you'll do the same for me." She continued in a rush, embarrassed and somehow desperate. "The back of the head — I can't reach there really well."

He hesitated, perhaps as uncomfortable with the situation as she was, then shrugged again — obviously a favorite expression.

"Just let me get in my pack." Retrieving it, she moved toward his seat on the far side of the fire, hesitating only slightly to lay her _Shigure_ out of easy reach on the blanket pile, a gesture of trust. She only hoped that he would not realize how much it cost her.

* * *

The wine, as it turned out, was more paint thinner than beverage. Zoro knew now why she'd said she brought it for disinfectant. None the less, he gulped some down as she used a cloth soaked in the stuff to scrub out the scratch on his arm, and not gently either. He was damned if he'd complain, though; and horrid tasting alcohol was at least strong enough to take the edge off the ache. She finished scrubbing the wound to her — obviously too strict — standards, then sprinkled some burning powder on it before wrapping it in bandages taken from the kit.

He flexed the arm cautiously as she backed away from him, testing how tight the dressing was while watching her surreptitiously. She set a kettle on a tripod over the fire, filling it with some sort of grain mixture and water in seemingly equal portions. Then she busied herself breaking some branches into kindling, bringing the fire up to lick at the bottom of the kettle. She'd carefully put her _katana_ down out of reach, but she still moved cautiously, obviously at the edge of what she thought her reflexes could handle, should he draw.

He approved, really. You could never be to careful, even while at a truce. Personally, he preferred to just never let his weapons leave his side in the first place, but he guessed she meant some sort of peace or apology or some weird shit by leaving it there, or something. He'd probably never understand what women were thinking.

Stifling a laugh as he watched the marine stumble her way to the bank of the pool, he reached into his _haramaki_ and pulled out his bandana, cleaned in the selfsame cold stream water. He attempted to tie it around his arm; it just fit, even shortened as it was, and covered most of the bandage. With any luck his mates would never even notice; not that they were incredibly observant under any circumstances. Still, he found himself loathe to consider explaining the wound. It would just not come out right, he was certain.

The sky rumbled lowly and a colder wind swept the clearing. Rain was coming, and soon, he'd guess, though he was not their navigator to pinpoint the second. The marine kept moving, readying her camp for the storm, pushing the loosely tied bandages out of her face again and again. He sighed, recognizing make work when he saw it, and gestured. "I need that stuff if I'm supposed to fix your head."

She started at his voice — they had been silent for a good quarter-hour; then shrugged, seemingly to herself, before bringing the aid-kit and wine back over to the log where he sat. She barely hesitated before sitting on the ground in front of him, presenting him with the back of her head.

He picked up the hot water soaked rag and waited while she took a long swig of the grog, setting it back down with a shudder. He began untangling the blanket strips from around her head, eventually cursing and pulling the entire lot off her head in a tangled mess. She hissed as the fabric ripped away from the dried blood on the wound, then made no more noises as he set about cleaning the blood away. Strong. Most of his mates would have been whining by now; even the stupid cook — if there were any women there to hear him and take pity.

She cleared her throat as he worked, then spoke up. "Why are you a pirate, anyway?"

"What?" He stopped, surprised, then resumed as she waved her hands about in front of her.

"I'm making conversation. It's just..." She paused as he took a blood-stiffened hair knot near the wound, and tried to comb it out with his fingers. He tried to keep his movements as gentle as he could. No need to make it any worse. "You were a bounty hunter before, right? Although, that's not any bett- I mean, not that..." She trailed off again.

He shrugged, though she obviously could not see him with her back to him, and dipped the rag into the water in the shallow bowl again. "Luffy asked me to be."

She almost turned to face him, before he tapped on her head, meaningfully. She turned back away from him, but continued her question. "He just asked? That's it? 'Hey, you wanna be a murdering pirate?' 'Sure, why not, sounds great!' You must be joking." Her voice was incredulous, although he had to stifle a snicker for her Luffy impression.

He considered explaining, but decided it was a long story, one that someone who didn't know Luffy would probably not understand. "I've never murdered anyone."

"But..." She sounded like she still wanted to argue. Grabbing the oilcloth packet of anti-septic powder, he forestalled her questions with one of his own.

"What about you? Why are you a marine?" He held a clean gauze pad to the gash — not really bleeding anymore — and started wrapping the bandages; more carefully this time, when he was not working on someone lying down at the end of his reach. Zoro was not really sure why he was asking, except that she had started it.

She answered him as she got to her feet, checking the security of the wrapping just as he had the one on his arm. "I... Roguetown was pretty crazy, when I was a kid. When the pirates..." She trailed off and dropped her hands from her head, seeming to find the bandages secure. She moved to the kettle, lifted the lid and stirred. No discernible smell cut through the smell of rain in the air — obviously, she was not a cook, either.

He was beginning to wonder if she was going to answer or if he should just leave when thunder rumbled overhead, much louder this time. He looked up at the sky involuntarily, though it was too dark to see anything. As glanced back at the marine, he realized she was looking at him oddly. As he met her gaze she looked away, settling on the ground on the far side of the fire; in reach of her weapon this time, he noticed. When she finally spoke again, he almost started.

"It got pretty bad, sometimes." She waved a hand, seeming dismissive. "Learning the sword helped a lot. But it wasn't until Captain Smoker — until the real marines — that it got better. They helped so much, I just knew..." She gestured, formlessly.

For some reason, the story irritated him. "So what about the sword?" He gestured toward her _katana_. "I thought you were a **swordsman**; you said..." He trailed off, unsure what point he was trying to make.

She looked at the sword, following his hand, and her fingers twitched — an instinctive desire for the weapon in hand that he knew well. "_Shigure_, it's beautiful. They are all very beautiful."

He exhaled through his nose. Was she purposely missing the point? "No, not the _sword _sword. I mean, the Way — being stronger and, and..." He slashed a hand through the air, even more annoyed. This was ridiculously stupid.

"I know the Way needs strength. And you can't help anyone else if you aren't strong enough, either." She looked back over at him again with that strange look. "If I get stronger, strong enough... Then it won't make a difference what crazy powers they all have. I'll be able to help everyone live better — the people and the swords." The clouds above them rumbled again, as if to punctuate her words.

Zoro barely felt cold gust of wind that followed, prompting her to get up and move her blankets further under her lean-to. His blood felt hot, and he stood as she did. It was ridiculous. It was more like Vivi, or... he spoke before he realized the words had left his mouth.

"So, what — you think you get strong, then you can sail around stealing swords and telling people how to live?"

She turned, in the midst of straightening something under the tarp, her jaw dropping. "Excuse me?"

* * *

The insult came out of no where, rooting her to the spot for a moment. Her knuckles turned white on the sheath of her _katana_. How dare he! "Marines are nothing like pirates. And to make sure good people can live without being afraid to be near the shore is not telling them how to live!" She gestured with her left hand. "And freeing the swords from some, some asshole, who uses them for... For killing and raping and..."

"So if they're an asshole they don't deserve a sword, no matter how strong they are, or what they've done? Or, what, who gets to decide who are good people? You?" He snorted derisively.

She resisted the urge to draw the sword and shove it down his throat — it would probably get lodged between his toes, the way his foot was in his mouth. He didn't even seem to have a reason! One moment, normal conversation — the next, twisting her words, attacking her. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but you had better turn around and walk away, Roranoa."

He laughed. Laughed. At her! She switched her sheath to her left hand, slid her foot forward a bit.

"You aren't even strong enough to make me leave, and you want to be strong to 'help people'?" His right hand dropped to rest on the _katana_ at his hip.

"Being strong isn't the end all and be all. How would a stupid pirate even understand anyway?" She turned, slightly, raising her right hand until it hovered at the level of her waist.

Her answer seemed to make him even more angry, crazily out of proportion with her words. "You are nothing alike!"

"Huh?" She managed, nonplussed. Maybe she'd heard him wrong? What did he mean, she was...

"You are just some damned, idiotic, marine know-it-all bitch who thinks..." His litany brought the anger all in a flash, like gunpowder in a hot skillet. This was the last straw. She drew _Shigure_, determined to cut him into pirate chum for the sharks.

Which, in hindsight, was incredibly stupid. She had suffered a head injury and had lost some blood; and even on her best day, she probably wasn't a match for him, much as she hated to admit it. And she was definitely not on her best day anymore.

Although her blade cleared the scabbard before his did, he was the one that came leaping over the fire; the flickering light making a grotesque mask of his face and glowing along the edge of his _katana_ as it swept toward her.

To call it a fight would only be a salve to her pride. However much she had improved, he seemed to have gone twice as far. His first blow brought _Shigure_, still coming into guard, far out of line, and his second blow knocked her stumbling backward into a large tree, hanging on to her sword only with an effort of both hands, tingling from the force of his swings. She desperately tried to get back into stance as his blade blurred in again, but instead, _Shigure_ tumbled from her — now numb — grip. As his sword flashed in toward her neck she didn't even have time to close her eyes.

Which meant she saw perfectly as a simple twitch of his wrist buried his blade effortlessly — at least six inches into the hardwood of the tree she'd been backed up against, deferring the killing blow. Again.

She started trembling in pure, animal anger. Not **again** with the pity! How dare he! She glared at him, opened her mouth to denounce his sexism... And with a deafening crack, the sky opened above them.

* * *

The rain was not quite ice cold, but it seemed to quench the flames of his anger. He stared at the woman in front of him, not quite understanding how this had even come about.

So she wasn't like Kuina. So what? She was some totally different person, who just resembled her. That was it. The only thing they had in common was being female _kenshi_ and some sort of crazy persecution complex about being a girl — like he had anything to do with that.

Thunder crashed again, as if to punctuate his thoughts. The marine was glaring at him, defiant, an expression he'd never seen on Kuina, and like the lightning, it hit him. It didn't matter. Really. She wasn't the same at all.

He opened his mouth to say something — to apologize, to explain. And he met her eyes again, and just like that, as if it had been waiting for that moment, everything changed.

Suddenly, it felt like, even though he was at the end of an outstretched _katana_, he was too close to her. He tightened his grip, to pull his sword from the tree... And she advanced.

She didn't take a step or anything. It was like... Like she swayed forward, her body moving with the wind, except when the gust passed, she was closer to him. He realized he was breathing fast, though he wasn't angry, or winded; he was abruptly aware, as he hadn't even been when she was under the falls, that she was a woman. He was so used to ignoring that about people.

She moved forward another half a step, standing even with his outstretched hand, and tilted her head, studying him, it seemed. The firelight reflected off of the water beading on her glasses, and he wondered if she could even see through all of it — he couldn't.

He noticed she was trembling slightly, and abruptly realized he was as well; his pulse thundering in his ears, "Go, go, go, go!"

And he knew he needed to. Something was changing here that could never go back, if he didn't go now. Nothing he could fight, it was time to flee. He shifted his weight, then stopped — as if frozen — as she slowly lifted an arm. Her hand stopped, hovering above his wrist, and he could swear he could feel heat there, though she wasn't touching him.

She tilted her head a little more, and with the changing angle, he could see her eyes again. They seemed dark, darker than he remembered, and he didn't recognize... Didn't know if he **wanted** to recognize the decision that seemed to rest there. He tore his eyes from her face, looking at the slim hand above his left arm, waiting in some sort of limbo for something...

In a split second, over the course of a million years; in three shaking deep breaths she took two more of the swaying, almost dancing half-steps. Her hand skimmed his arm as she moved, still not really touching him; and now she was standing right in front of him — her pale hand seeming to glow in the darkness before his chest. His heart was pounding centimeters from her fingers; adrenaline flooding through his veins. She raised her head, captured his gaze. And stood there, in front of him, unmoving.

He realized, abruptly, in the hissing of the rain, that she was giving him a chance to flee. The enemy, the change before him, was not something he could defeat, so she was honorably allowing him to go. He could run, now; right now, or he could accept it. He **should** run. Just pull the _Wadou Ichimonji_ from the tree — head into the dark woods surrounding them. It wasn't as if a little rain was going to kill him. He could find the ship in the morning — or they would find him.

And if he did, then then next time that he met the marine, he would still be the same pirate, and he — and his mates — would run, laughing, the same, as ever, as always.

She — Tashigi — still waited, in the rain, before him; not running. And so, slowly, with almost a sense of the inevitable, he moved forward those last few miles or inches between them and lowered his head.

* * *

Final chapter soon. (For a given value of soon.) Successfully edited to put off the smut editing again! Yay! (I'm so lazy. -laugh-) Actually, this story has developed a lot more plot by my changing the smut pacing. So it's probably good practice.

The argument — it seems forced. The Kuina thing is kinda a bitch to deal with, but I don;t think you can write just ignoring it. And the alternative of making Tashigi some sort of stand-in for a dead twelve-year-old is sick. Feh. I tried, at least, and my loyal Mattemo suggested nothing better.


End file.
